


Memory Identity

by Jadeycakes99



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Flashbacks, Gen, Genderqueer Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-17
Updated: 2014-12-14
Packaged: 2018-02-21 11:30:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2466635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jadeycakes99/pseuds/Jadeycakes99
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean is genderqueer and can get depressed and dysphoric. He keeps it hidden, always has, but can't necessarily continue to do so, but he deals in his own self destructive kind of way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Drunk Shopping

Today was a bad day. It was a Tuesday, which just screamed bad day off the bat, but today was one filled with depression and outright dysphoria. Dean couldn't even look in a mirror today.   
"Dean, I think I found a case. It's in Idaho." The older brother sighed and pushed himself into a sitting position. 

Halfway there they stopped at a diner. Dean didn't eat, Sam noticed. 

Later, after Sam was done stitching up his older brother's wound, he started voicing his concern.   
"You sure as hell aren't an idiot Dean. That was a simple salt and burn, one that you could have handled in your sleep, it was hardly worth driving here for, what the hell?" For extra measure, he poured extra antiseptic over the stitches. Dean hissed in pain and flew up, grabbing the bottle from his brother.   
"Just leave it alone Sam. It's none of your goddamn business."   
"Yeah, I forgot that we agreed to keep everything from each other. That was. The deal right?"  
"Sam-." Dean interrupted, but Sam wasn't quite done with his tangent yet.   
"Don't bullshit me, tell me what the hell has been going on with you!" He crescendoed. Dean remained silent, pulled a shirt on, and left the motel room, but Sam stormed after him.   
"Go back inside. I need to cool off." Dean tried.   
"Can I trust you with that though? Are you going to get yourself killed by drinking too much, or driving the car off the road?" He snarled.   
"Are you seriously comparing a ghost with a simple drive to the bar?"   
"Yeah, I am, because it is just as simple as the hunt we were just on, yet you managed to put yourself in danger anyway. Are you trying to get yourself killed?"   
"It was an accident. People have accidents. They happen."  
"You just stopped moving. That's no accident." Dean was at a loss. So he stormed to the car door, but Sam maneuvered in front of him.   
"I guess I'm just having a bad week." Dean said, avoiding his brother's scrutinizing look.   
"What happened? Is this about the Cas thing?" Dean had been less than enthusiastic when Castiel went A-wall, but that was not the cause of his pain.   
"No. It's... Sam it's a me thing. Can you just accept that and move on?" His voice was so desperate and pleading, that Sam faltered, which Dean took as an opportunity to get inside Baby, and drive off to the nearest place he could get sloshed.   
Being a hunter and being able to drink since he was fourteen, he didn't get drunk often. He had developed a bit of a tolerance, however tonight was a great time to get blackout drunk. He wasn't even close by the time the person in charge sent him away, seeing how he drank more than any person should be able to without stumbling, mumbling, and puking. He drove with minimum swerving to the next bar he could find. He had been to four bars, and after the third bar, his memory was gone.   
When he woke up dry heaving the next day, he wiped the sleep out of his eyes, and the fluids off the corner of his mouth, and checked the time. It was five at night. He checked his phone and found that he had twenty eight missed calls, all from Sam. He sighed and called him back.   
"Dean?" Sam answered on the first ring.   
"Yeah, it's me." He said, just barely decipherable due to his dry throat.   
"Are you okay? Where are you?" He asked hurriedly.   
"No clue. I'll be back probably in a few hours." He replied.   
"Oh, you remember where the motel is? That's weird, I thought for sure you'd forgotten in the process of losing your phone. That occurred to me after I'd considered the possibilities of you being dead or kidnapped." Dean rolled his eyes at his brother's worried tone. Like Sam hadn't pulled stunts like this.   
"I'm sorry. Like I said, I'll be there in a couple." And with that, he hung up.   
He stuck the keys in the ignition, but not before finding a few shopping bags in the back. The corner of his mouth rose in amusement. "Did some drunk shopping, huh?" He muttered to himself, and reached into the back seat. When he looked inside, he paled, and nearly started dry heaving again.   
In the bags, were dresses, and heels, and earrings, and at that moment, Dean felt a throbbing and groaned, reaching up to find what he already suspected was there. He had gotten his ears pierced apparently. There were also T-

shirts and hoodies and jeans, all specifically designed for women. An unwelcome tear made its way to his eye. He was never going to drink during a dysphoric girl time. Most of the time, Dean felt normal, well, as normal as it was possible for him to be, but other times, sometimes for weeks, and occasionally for months, he felt so devastated and disgusted by the fact that he wasn't a she.   
She wouldn't be able to wear this stuff in front of Sam, but, then again, Sam didn't know where she was.


	2. Fashion Show

“Hey, uh, Sammy? I’m a little further from the motel than I thought.” Dean lied. Actually, he was only a few miles away, but not close enough that there wasn’t another motel right down the road. If he sped, it would take about an hour to get back.  
“How much further?” Sam asked through a sigh.  
“I’ll be there by tomorrow.” There was a long, uncomfortable silence. “Promise.” She added.  
“Yeah. Okay Dean. See you tomorrow.” Sam replied before briskly hanging up. Dean rolled her eyes. Sam was being more of a chick than she was. She both laughed and cringed at the thought. She checked into the motel carting the many bags filled with a plethora of pretty pink purchases.  
The private transition took longer than it should have, mainly because it was just Dean emptying out all of the bags onto the bed and staring at it for about twenty minutes before she finally picked out some stuff and took it to the bathroom. Undressing in front of the mirror wasn’t exactly an option right now, so she just turned her back and took off the very masculine clothing. He picked one of the bags and found some very nice lady’s underwear that she had apparently purchased while inebriated, and shuddered. Maybe Dean was just a creep. She sure as hell had never felt like more of one than when she pulled out the underwear, hell she had even bought a set. Normal guys didn’t do that. Guys don’t like shopping, especially for clothes, guys like buying beer and strippers and grills, not panties for Christ’s sake. She looked down and cringed. They were nice, and she wasn’t exactly comfortable with being naked at the moment, so she manned up and pulled the underwear on and even went so far as to hook the bra on, unfortunately, she had never done this to herself, so it was very difficult at first, and it took a few minutes, but she got it. It felt great, she felt more right than she had in the past few days, and that was saying something. She felt pretty for a minute, so she turned around.   
Tears started streaming down her face almost immediately. It wasn’t some magical transformation, it was awkward, and it felt ugly and it looked ugly. The bra bunched up like a bunch of fabric, and the underwear had a very visible bulge, and it wasn’t what she expected. She just wanted to feel pretty and she felt and looked ugly and gross, and she felt even worse than before. What she felt just didn’t match what the mirror saw, and that felt awful. She threw on a baggy sweater, one of the new ones, and accidentally caught a glimpse in the mirror. To be honest, she felt much better like this. She looked away again, and put on a new pair of jeans. She looked around again, and felt the same feeling of awe, that she had felt before looking in the mirror. Her face was already smooth, and the sweater was cute, and the underwear felt good, and even the jeans, which had rhinestones, were pretty cute. Dean grabbed some makeup, and brought it to the bathroom as well, though honestly, she was a bit baffled by it. After a few attempts involving putting on far too much eye shadow, she finally got the purple hue to an acceptable shade. Living with Lisa had given her a small advantage as to what to do with the eyeliner, though she kept flinching, afraid that it was going to poke her eye, even though she was doing quite well, she got her waterline on the first try. She tried on one of the five lipsticks she had gotten, though what she would do with five who knows. Honestly, she was probably going to throw them out after this little experiment. Sam could never see it. She sighed, and tried them all, but finally decided on the light pink one for tonight, it went best with the outfit and eye makeup. She looked into the mirror, and despite the longing for longer hair, she felt right for the first time in a week. The mirror confirmed what she felt, at least mostly. It was a euphoric moment in her sea of dysphoria: past, present, and future.  
She grinned staring at the mirror for a full twenty minutes before going back to the main room, where she was met by a swift click, and the opening of the door.  
She grabbed the gun next to all of her new stuff.  
“Dean?” A wide eyed Sam asked in semi shock.


	3. The Confrontation

It had been a week since Dean yelled at Sam to get out and Sam happily complied. They hadn’t talked about anything, instead, immersing themselves in a werewolf thing in Iowa. Dean screwed up again. He was feeling much better, and this time it actually wasn’t his fault as much as it was the guy who was about to get eaten’s fault. He tugged on Dean’s leg, which he wasn’t really prepared for as he thought the guy completely unconscious. Dean looked down and the werewolf nearly scratched him, and he would have had it not been for Sam. They had been driving in silence for the last hour or so, Sam’s eyes never leaving Dean. Finally, when Dean couldn’t be any more creeped out by his brother’s behavior, he pulled over.  
“What?” He huffed.  
“You could have died.” Sam stated plainly. Dean laughed slightly.  
“Yeah, well, that typically comes with our line of work, Sammy.” He replied, raising his eyebrows, daring Sam to really say what was bothering him.  
“I know, but you could have died more than usual.” Dean knit his eyebrows together.  
“What the hell are you talking about?”  
“Don’t tell me I’ve been imagining it. Last week you were reckless and almost died, so we took a few days off, and I figured, he’ll get back to normal, he’ll be fine, but you almost died again.” Sam deadpanned. Finally, emotion came into his voice when he sheepishly asked, “Does any of this have to do with, you know,” Sam rubbed the back of his neck and looked awkwardly into his lap, “the thing that happened in that motel room.” Dean’s body went rigid and a blush crept into his cheeks. He thought that this was going to be a don’t ask, don’t tell type of thing.  
“We are so not talking about that, that its not even funny.” Dean forced a smile and restarted the car.  
“Yeah that’s cool.” Sam said putting his hands up in surrender. “Though, if we were to talk about it,” He began after five minutes of silence, “I would ask, what that even was, and if it will happen again.” Dean groaned and turned on the radio to drown out the radio.  
Dean remembered trying on her senior girlfriend’s prom dress sophomore year. She was able to play it off as a joke, but she canceled at the last minute. Dean remembered being eleven and trying on lipstick after walking her brother to school then ditching last minute. Dean remembered her first time trying on panties at the request of her girlfriend, not that it took much coaxing. Dean remembers guilt. Dean remembers shame. Dean remembers the odd look on Bobby’s face when he caught her stealing nail polish. Dean remembers hate, and trying to be a man for her tiny family, even when she wasn’t even close. He remembers the shocked look on Sam’s face that was probably masking disgust. He doesn’t want to remember, so he fiddles with the radio, focusing a little bit on every song, until his hand is pushed away and the radio is completely shut off.  
“Hey! You know the rules, Sammy…” but he was cut off.  
“Yeah, I know, but Dean, I need to know. I am not asking as your brother. I’m asking as your partner. Are you going to get yourself killed?” Sam asked harshly.  
“Eventually, but again, that typically comes with our line of work.”  
“I’m not joking. Is… whatever that was, is it going to happen again?” He asked, more softly this time. Dean really wanted to respond with another crude, “no,” but he was having a hard time finding the word. He had always gotten like this. Ever since he was little, but he had always been able to not hunt before.  
“Dean, help me out here. Please. I want to help. If it is going to be a regular thing, if you want to wear makeup, hell Dean, I don’t care if you want to wear a freaking bikini and heels, I want to know what’s happening. You can’t even try telling me this has nothing to do with that anymore. Are you… like that one dude played by Hilary Swank?” He asked desperately. Sam was freaking out, it was bad enough that this is what they did. They didn’t get paid for killing monsters, yet they had the masochistic conscience that forced them to do it anyway, but he couldn’t take the secret keeping anymore, and he definitely could not bear his brother dying again, he couldn’t.  
“I don’t know.” Dean replied honestly, hearing the earnest curiosity and lack of judgment, “Sometimes, I guess. Most of the time I feel good, well, relatively good, for us at least, but other times, I feel not good. I feel like nothing is right or looks right. I’m not supposed to have this body sometimes, and, I swear to God, if you laugh,” Dean glared at his brother and pointed his finger in warning. “I feel like, I’m going to break down because of how wrong everything is. I just can’t sometimes.” He said, never taking his eyes off the road.”  
“Okay. So, sometimes you’re a girl.” Sam said plainly. “Just tell me when so I know when we shouldn’t go on a hunt.” That’s really all there has to be unless you want a new name for when you’re a girl I guess.” Sam looked pointedly at Dean.  
“No. I’m good with Dean.” Dean replied a bit surprised.  
“Cool. Wait, so are you, like… Right now?” Sam asked.  
“No. Bitch.” Dean replied with an eye roll. Sam cast a sad grin at his brother, as he thought about how apathetic John would have been.  
“So, is the girl thing, like, your time of the month?” He asked teasingly, to which he received a hard punch in the arm.  
“Ow! Jerk.” And the brothers drove to Pennsylvania, feeling as if a giant weight had been lifted from their shoulders.


	4. Conclusion to Dean's Sad Feels, For the Evening at Least

“So, I found a hunt in Washington, if we haul ass, we can get there tomorrow morning.” Sam stated as he walked in the motel room. Dean turned on the television and looked down.  
“Are you sure it’s an actual case?”   
“Well, six girls from the celibacy club have been sacrificed in ‘Satanic ways,’ in public forums. I’m pretty sure it’s a case.” Sam replied sarcastically.  
“Aren’t there hunters closer to Washington?” Dean asked, hoping desperately that she wouldn’t have to explain that she was far too depressed to focus on something that required every single bit of focus she could muster.  
“Yeah, I just thought you would want to hunt.” Sam replied suspiciously.  
“Well, I don’t right now.” Dean shrugged.  
“Oh! Oh, oh! Is this one of your girl days?” Sam asked awkwardly.  
“Shut up.” Dean groaned putting the pillow over her head. Thinking about it, actually, doing anything other than drinking and watching mindless television made her even more depressed.   
“It’s fine. Dean, I’m really glad that you’re telling me about this. Hang on.” Sam stopped whatever it was he was saying to go rooting through his duffel.   
“Here. I got this for you, because, I don’t know.” Sam handed him a crudely covered Christmas themed bag and ducked his head nervously waiting for Dean to open it. It was fitting that it was December and there was a blizzard outside of their little Idaho motel. Dean ripped the tissue paper out of the bag that was presented to her and found a variety of Sephora products. He looked up questioningly at her younger brother.  
“I hope you don’t mind, I showed the lady your picture and she recommended all this stuff, and I thought you might like it, because Dean, look, I hate to tell you this, but, you kind of suck at picking out makeup.” Dean’s head snapped up.  
“What?” She asked surprised at what she just heard.  
“Look, Dean, I love you, but that night at the motel, your foundation was two shades darker than it should have been, your eye shadow didn’t even go with your eyes, and your lipstick clashed with your eye shadow. You were a hot mess. Plus, remember when we were kids and you stole that one lipstick and tried it on? It was crayon red and there was nothing to balance it out.” Sam ranted before shrugging.  
“And what makes you the expert?” Asked Dean aggressively, teetering the line between taking offense and wanting to tease her brother mercilessly on his knowledge of makeup, which probably wouldn’t have worked out that well, all things considered.   
“I have lived with two women, and I notice things. Plus, one night, I was looking up Egyptian lore, and I found this makeup tutorial that was scary good, and one thing led to another. Look, why don’t I just do it for you?” Sam pleaded.  
“What? No!” Dean yelled. How dare Sam even suggest that she was bad at makeup? Dean was nearly furious.  
“Dean, I love you, you are currently my sister, and I heard you mention something about going to that deli you like, and I refuse to be seen with you if you are going to do a shitty makeup job.” Sam deadpanned. Dean’s heart swelled a little bit at the sister comment. The corners of her mouth quirked slightly, almost betraying her.  
“Fine, but I swear, if you make me look bad…” He pointed his finger threateningly at Sam.  
“I promise I won’t. Come on!” Sam tugged Dean into the bathroom to give his sister a makeover.


End file.
